


Devil's Choir

by MythicalCatie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicalCatie/pseuds/MythicalCatie
Summary: Lucifer's been begging for Hell only knows how long to see his wife's Halloween costume. Reader finally reveals it on their way out the door.





	Devil's Choir

“For the last time, babe! We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry it up!” your husband called from the other side of the door, his voice loud enough to be heard over the music that flowed through the air of the master bedroom.

You didn’t think that you’d been getting ready **that** long, really, but then again, you always seemed to lose yourself when subject to the lyrics of your favorite artists. For all you knew, another hour could have passed since the last time the love of your life came knocking.

Rolling your eyes, you were unmoving as you perfected your red lipstick in front of the en-suite bathroom’s mirror. Clearly, he didn’t get out much or he would have known that an arrival time of nine o’clock, in terms of a party, really meant nine thirty.

“Calm down, hon!” you replied once the finishing touch on your makeup had been applied. You hoped that your voice would carry, but decided to simply click off the sound system after the words left your mouth so that you wouldn’t have to strain. “We’re not going to be late. Not really, **especially** since this is [your best friend’s name]’s soirée. She’s the queen of being “fashionably late”. If anything, she’ll be **proud** of us that we didn’t show up **on time** like absolute dorks. Besides, who are you to say anything about punctuality? You were late to our **wedding** , Luc! Our wedding!”

There was no doubt that the two of you both knew that your comeback was spoken in jest. It was impossible for you to still be bitter about it, considering that the day was long in your rearview mirror. You just liked to tease him about his tardiness whenever the opportunity arose.

“You’re right, I was. And here I am still trying to make up for it thirty years later by being prompt for every other function we attend, even though, might I remind you, it was only by six and a half minutes!” It was like you could feel his smile in your bones. “So, c’mon. The sooner you’re out here, the sooner I can see you in this costume that’s such a secret that you’ve hidden it from me since you bought it.”

Tonight, you were to attend a Halloween party thrown by your best friend of… ten years? You had picked out your costume long in advance, having had the idea for it since Christmas of the previous year. Honestly, you were surprised that you hadn’t come up with the plan a decade or two ago, but the important thing was that you had this year and that you were more than excited to show your outfit off (even if nobody but you and Lucifer truly **got** it).

You had been purchasing pieces for it since July, keeping them away from your spouse in an undisclosed location ever since. Though he loved to complain about how he didn’t know what it was and how he was just **dying** to see, he hadn’t gone looking for it. He had more respect for you than that. If you didn’t want him to see, he wouldn’t see until you showed him. But, of course, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t whine about it (something that he had been doing incessantly for the past three days or so).

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks before that you had found the last part of your ensemble at some teen store in the local shopping mall. You had started to worry that your look would be incomplete, but when you pulled on your long-sleeved, flowing, black lace shawl and slipped into complementing red heels before looking at yourself in the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom, you knew that all the stress had been worth it. Anybody who didn’t notice or believe that you were stunning would have to be **blind**.

“Just another minute is all I need,” you assured, a gentle grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you admired yourself. You were sure that you could **never** be this, frankly, **smoking hot** , at the chronological age of fifty-one without the help of your husband, and you had no clue what you’d do if you, along with your beauty, hadn’t been immortalized three decades prior. “Go wait by the front door, though. It’ll be more dramatic if I come down and reveal myself.” You were rarely one for making a production of things, but felt that in this case, it was called for. Plus, it would get him to stop lurking in the hall.

“Well… Okay,” he sighed, sounding very put out. You swore that the guy had the patience of an infant sometimes despite being older than the Earth itself. “I’ll be waiting. Just try not to be frightened by my chilling costume,” he joked.

So far, you had only been through two, and were currently on your third, such cycle (of considerable length, anyway), but every time you moved to a new location to live a new life under a new name (in order to keep the fact that you and your spouse failed to physically age a secret), Lucifer liked to make it fun and develop a schtick when it came to Halloween attire. During the first cycle, you both agreed on couples costumes. While in the second, he went for television characters. Nowadays, he was known as _“Oh, you know Nick. He’s the guy that does the bad villain costumes.”_

One summer morning, you were woken up by somebody who, if you didn’t already know that he wasn’t human, you’d think as much by the fact that he was as energetic as he was firstly, at eight in the morning and secondly, without a cup or five of coffee. This somebody was your spouse, and he was elated to inform you that he had come up with the **perfect** idea for what his new theme was to be come that October. You and he knew better than anything that he could shapeshift into anything or anybody that he wanted without a second thought to it, but he wasn’t going to take that road just yet. No. This time around, he was going to do his best to be the **worst** recreation of classic horror villains that he could possibly manage while still being able to be recognized as that villain. Terrible makeup jobs, off-color outfits, inaccurate accents, anything he could think of to make them awful.

Since that first October in this nowhere town, it had become practice for your friend group to excitedly await to see how he could top his previous costume and make the next one even **more** horrifyingly terrible. Honestly, it was more fun to see than people who put the work in to be the **best** recreation of a person or character.

If anything, his costumes were “scary” because they were such disastrous emulations of the original, not because they’d do a number on your heart health.

“Yes, darling,” you responded, your voice dripping with sarcasm. He had given that same warning every year for the past eleven and you still found it cute. “Of course. I’ll do my best not to faint coming down the staircase.”

“I’d appreciate less of the sass!” he called as he walked away, the sound of him fading away with each word. You could only think your response, knowing that shouting it after him was pointless.

_Who’s he kidding? The man’s the overlord of sass. Think he’d appreciate similar in a partner._

Knowing that that statement couldn’t be any truer, you let his comment roll off of your back as you went quickly about the room to gather the belongings of yours that you were taking to the party with you. While it was the case that it was more than acceptable to be fashionably late to the event, you wanted to wait to show your husband your costume just about as much as he wanted to wait to see it. As things were, it had taken all that you had in you not to model it before Halloween. Now that the night was finally here, why should you have to wait any longer?

A product of your being eager, it was only a brief moment before you were at the top of the staircase, well-hidden behind the corner as you called, “All right! Are you ready?”

“Always!”

With the go-ahead, you stepped out from your place down the wall and began to slowly descend the stairs.

The train of your shawl trailed gracefully behind you as your blood red heels carried you down the wooden steps, your matching dress an attractive contrast to your layer of outerwear.

Sweeping a runaway strand of curled hair from your face, you presented the room with a teeth-baring smile, most of which came from being subjected to the sight of Lucifer’s abomination of a Jigsaw. “You look amazing, sweetheart,” you snickered once you reached the midpoint of the staircase. “One of your best yet.” Then again, you said that every year. He just kept getting better (worse?). “Thoughts?”

Gesturing to yourself with the hand that wasn’t holding your centerpiece accessory (the one which the bottom of rested on the stair that you stood on), you didn’t break eye contact. It wasn’t by any means the most important part of the look, but facing straight ahead was the best way for your makeup to be visible. You had spent twenty minutes perfecting your eyeliner alone, and you’d be damned if he didn’t get a good look at it.

You did not receive an immediate reaction from the celestial being, his mind using time to process what was in front of him. He simply stared at you for a long minute, taking every aspect of your choice in, before bursting into laughter.

As if it was a natural response, you giggled along with him as you cleared the rest of the staircase and reached the landing, using the item in your left hand as something of a walking stick. It **was** pretty funny if you thought about it. Red dress, horns, _pitchfork_ …

“Absolutely not!” the angel squawked through his laughter, now all but doubled over against the door that led to the outside world. “You can **not** wear that to the party, no way!”

You simply stared back at him incredulously, your mouth still wide open with a smile as you asked, “ **What** ?! Why not? New York state firemen will have to come put me out when we get there because I’m **smoking**!”

“Okay, that's so cheesy that your name might as well be mozzarella,” he shot back but laughed even harder, still. “But I’m **Lucifer** , in case you’ve forgotten. You **can’t** go dressed up a devil, **the** devil. We’re trying to keep a low profile, here, Y/N!”

Running a hand over your face, you shook your head as your palm hid your grin. It was a good thing you had the makeup that you did, because otherwise, it’d be ruined with how hard you pressed on your skin. Obviously, your spouse wasn’t seeing where his logic fell apart, so you’d have to explain it to him (though you were cackling the whole time; you hoped it still had the same effectiveness).

“According to literally everybody in this town beside the two of us when we’re alone, your name is Nicholas “Nick” Hayes. You take on different identities when we’re not dealing with the other world, remember? Nobody will understand why it’s funny except **us** , love. They’ll just think my costume is cute, like they do every year, and that your costume is the most ridiculous thing they’ve seen to date, like every year. As long as you don’t open your big mouth and announce it or do some magic trick that can’t be explained away as sleight of hand, we’re good.”

The realization that washed over the blond's face was immediate, and even through his makeup, you could tell that he felt like a complete idiot. “Right, that’s right. I forget about that sometimes,” he chuckled. “And I have to admit, you **do** look really sexy. Honestly, it’s a sin, and I’d probably send you to Hell for it if you weren’t my wife.” The angel smirked under his poorly applied lipstick (frankly, you’d think he had done it blindfolded in a moving car if you didn’t know that he had put it on in the upstairs bathroom with full visual clearance). “Luckily for you, you are. I’ll just get to have fun undressing you later.”

You had to fight a blush at the prospect of what was to come once you returned home, because otherwise, your comeback definitely wouldn’t land as well. “You’re delusional if you think you’re going to come anywhere **close** to undressing me looking like **that** , Morning Star.”

Lucifer choked at your well-timed comment, the words earning yet another snicker. “I was trying to sound alluring! Let me seduce you!” Oh my god, was he whining? Lucifer, ruler of all that is evil, **pouting** because he’s failing at being hot. Pathetic.

Stepping off of the landing and crossing the floor in the few steps that it took to get to him, you smiled sympathetically. Taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his, you assured, “You can do all of your seducing once you’re done looking like a ninety-nine cent store psychopath, I promise. I’m sorry, but if I can’t take you seriously when you look like that, how do you think I’ll find you overwhelmingly attractive?”

Well, he couldn’t say that that wasn’t fair. He had looked at himself in the mirror, and there was no way that **he** would let somebody get in his pants, or even attempt to, if they appeared like he did.

“That’s fair enough, I suppose. Now, let’s go. We’re late.” But he couldn’t say that it wasn’t wholly worth it.

 


End file.
